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Thursday, January 18, 2018

My friend, Joyce, and I went to see our friend, Candace Primack in her art studio, yesterday. I came home with this, entitled: "1 Corinthians 13." My awesome photography skills don't do this justice. You will need to zoom in, or see it in person, to appreciate the fact that the Bible passage is written in white, throughout the canvas, with the abstractions overlaid.

After I got home and hung it in its perfect spot, I Googled 1 Corinthians 13 to refresh my memory.
"... but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears." I had not paid attention to that particular phrase before. I've heard 1 Corinthians 13 at church, and at wedding ceremonies, over and over again, yet it was only yesterday that I "heard" them.

Three friends in five days, have lost their beloved fathers. All three were sweet and kind, cherished by their spouses, children, extended family and friends. In two cases, it is the second parent to go - the end of an era, in a way, a "completeness."

I am going to spend time with my abstract bright, in contemplation, today. Words like "part," and "completeness," and of course the biggies: faith, hope and love.

But the greatest of these is love.

1 Corinthians 13 (NIV):

1If I speak in the tongues13:1 Or languages of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,13:3 Some manuscripts body to the flames but do not have love, I gain nothing.

4Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

8Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. 9For we know in part and we prophesy in part, 10but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. 11When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. 12For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

13And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Wednesday, January 10, 2018

Ten days into the new year, and I think Christmas 2017 is nearly in the rearview mirror. The tree is down. The boxes, put away. The wreath carefully deconstructed and the wires thrown away, the greenery placed in the compost bin.

The items that didn't fit, have been returned. The pants that did, have been hemmed. Thank you cards are out.

The "vending machine" from Santa, filled with Tropicana fruit punch, was not what the recipient had in mind. It first sat in our living room, quickly unplugged, for a week. When asked where he might like to have it, he suggested his sister's old room - a room he never goes in.

"It's okay to say you appreciate the gift from Santa, but would like to pass it on," we said.

Never admitting it wasn't doing the trick, he simply ignored it altogether. I've been in touch with Santa, and he's agreed to take it back, pass it onto a child that would really love it.

January is the month of putting away, cleaning up, clearing. As the decorations went away, and our usual stuff came back out, I saw just how dingy, faded, worn-out some of it was. It's time to replace, or eliminate -- to return.

Monday, January 1, 2018

Yesterday was our anniversary - 26 years of just about everything life can throw at a couple. The tenacity alone is worthy of celebration.

We'd celebrated a few days earlier when Wil was spending the night first with Timmy, then with my mom, giving us a little breather in the high vibration joy that pulses throughout our house on a normal day, and up a few notches at Christmas.

Then, the next morning, "ARE YOU READY TO CHOCK UP I'LL SEE YA IN ABOUT 25 MINTUES"

I got frequent updates as to his ETA, and right on schedule, he pulled up on his bike, I opened the back door, and he handed me a piece of folded up, yellow tablet paper. "A SONG LYRIC FOR CARE BEAR YOU TAUGHT ME EVERYTHING AND EVERYTHING YOU'VE GIVEN ME I ALWAYS KEEP INSIDE ME YOU'LL CHOKE UP LOVE WILSON," taken from the Boyz 2 Men song, "A Song for Mama."

I'm not sure how the note pertains to our anniversary, but it does. Maybe he's conceding - despite his best and sustained efforts, he did not tear us apart.

Here's to a new year, for all of us. For those torn apart. For those in need of being put back together. For those that are wounded, discouraged, and weary. For those that have a light to shine in others' darkness. For those with joy so intense and palpable the regular folk need small breaks from it.